


The Dancer And The Answer

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Busted, Dancing, Desperation, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, John's limp, Kissing, Lies, M/M, New Friendship, Series 1, secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: John has a problem: he's recently entered the world of Sherlock Holmes and loves everything about it. However, he worries his limp slows him down and he often has pain after running around with Sherlock. He seeks an unorthodox remedy to his problem, but Sherlock soon becomes suspicious.  “Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.”― Voltaire





	1. John Finds An Answer

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.

Taking the upstairs bedroom was starting to take its toll, never mind all of the running around he was doing with Sherlock. Even though Sherlock hadn't mentioned it, John knew it had to bother him. John was slow, and he had to do something about it. And besides, he'd been applying for jobs recently as well. There was just too much of life he was missing out on because of his leg.

In his room, he got online to research what might help his leg since his brain wasn't letting it go. He passed up different exercises, yoga, and even water aerobics. He couldn't make himself interested in any of those -- he didn't know who'd be in those kinds of classes, and he already felt embarrassed enough.

Then he saw the dance classes. He clicked on the link and looked through the options. They offered different kinds, the movements and dance steps designed to help build up movement slowly. He had gone to rehab for his arm and shoulder, but never for his leg. Ella was sure it would go away with time as John adjusted to being home again. But it hadn't yet, and John was impatient. If he treated it like a proper injury and viewed the classes as a kind of physical therapy, maybe he could finally make the pain and the limp go away. Besides, maybe he'd meet a woman there, something else Ella had been encouraging him to do.

John signed himself up. He had been looking for a job on the side to help pay the bills, so he could just pretend he found one. The thought made him pause. Without thinking, he had decided this was going to have to be a secret. It made sense -- Sherlock would think it was ridiculous. Sherlock didn't even believe in the injury, didn't understand why John couldn't just use his mind to turn it off. So yes, it would need to be a secret. John went to bed that night feeling a little more hopeful about his situation. 

Two days later, when it was time for the first class, John dressed up a bit and found Sherlock at his desk. "So, I've got an interview. I'm going to head out," he explained, trying not to linger too much. Sherlock was too observant not to catch John lying if he looked closely enough. 

"An interview for what? A case?" Sherlock asked. "Why are you going without me? What's going on?"

"No, an interview for a job," John said, putting on his coat.

"What kind of job? Why? Don't you like it here?" Sherlock asked. He could hear the questions tumbling out of his mouth -- they sounded panicked, but he wasn't quite sure why.

"I . . . at an office. Doctor's office," John said. "Just for some extra cash."

All of a sudden, Sherlock had caught up. "Fine," he said somewhat dismissively and turned back to the work he was doing.

John glanced over at him. "Right. See you," he said as he left. He took a cab to the studio. He gripped his cane nervously as he made his way inside.

Sherlock finished clearing out his inbox, and then he went to their blog. He'd checked it to see if there was anything; there wasn't, but he soon found him reading over the few cases John had posted. He liked reading them. He didn't know or care why.

When he'd finished with that, he drank his third cup of tea and then went in to take a shower. He walked naked to his bedroom before deciding not to bother with getting properly dressed until he knew he had somewhere to go. He put on a clean pair of pajamas and lay down on the bed to read, heading to his mind palace before he'd even finished the first page of his book.

John slowly made his way out to hail another cab. He was limping worse than ever, the first class having pushed him farther than he expected. When he arrived at the flat, he carefully headed up the steps and, after removing his coat, sank into his chair with a sigh.

Sherlock heard a noise in the flat and sat up from his bed. He slipped his dressing gown on and went out to find John in the sitting room. "You haven't made tea?" he asked, slightly annoyed, as he moved over to turn the kettle on.

John threw him a glance and ignored the comment. "I got it, by the way." 

"Milk?" Sherlock asked, opening the fridge. "We've got plenty."

John looked over again. "The job," he said. 

"What j--?" Sherlock started and then stopped. John's face told him that this was something Sherlock should already know, so he quickly went back to this morning and found the answer. "Good . . . good," he said. "Well, that's good. But you'll still work on cases, right?"

John narrowed his eyes. Sherlock didn't remember, he probably had been lost in his head when John was talking this morning. He almost called Sherlock out on it, but then realised that the less Sherlock knew, the better. "Right, thanks," he said. "Yeah, I will."

"Good," Sherlock said, bringing in tea and handing John a cup. He sat down on the sofa. "So what are we going to do now?"

"I'd like to rest for a bit. Did you have any new cases?"

"No," Sherlock pouted. He took a sip of tea. "Perhaps I should rest as well," he said, taking full advantage of the fact John had no idea how he'd spent the last two hours. "Might do me some good."

John nodded, sipping on the tea Sherlock brought him. "What did you do? While I was out, I mean?" 

"A bit of this and a bit of that," Sherlock said. "It's not all about the glory and your calling me amazing, you know -- some of it is a bit tedious, but it's work and that's what matters."

"Yes, yes, I know your work is important," John said.

Sherlock took another sip. "And is your work important?" he asked.

"At the doctor's office? Or the blog?" John asked.

" _Your_ work, not _our_ work," Sherlock clarified. "I know the blog is important . . . though it's been three days since it got us a client . . ."

"Are you trying to belittle the work I'll be doing, just because you're not involved?" John asked, realising he was getting defensive over a job that didn't exist.

"I'm belittling nothing, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I was only trying to clarify . . . don't pick a fight just to avoid the fact that . . ." His voice trailed off. "Just don't pick a fight."

John raised his brows and smirked lightly. "I think my job is important, yes."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Good. Everyone's good." He finished his tea, feeling a bit confused by the way this conversation had turned. He stood up. "I'm off then," he said. "If you fancy adding something to the blog, I wouldn't be angry."

"We need a new case for me to add something." John stayed in his seat. He would stand when Sherlock was gone from the room.

"Stop trying to fight me," Sherlock said as he disappeared into his bedroom.

"I'm not!" John called. When the door closed, John pushed himself up with a wince, making his way up to his own bedroom. He hoped it would get easier soon. 

He lay down on his bed, massaging his leg and thinking about the class. They had mostly stretched before going over some of the steps in slow motion, so they could all learn them. He hadn't been on his feet like that in a while, not since he had walked all the way to Baker Street to meet Sherlock and see the flat that first day. If this didn't work, he didn't know what else to try. He hated this.

When Sherlock emerged from his room, John was back downstairs. In an effort to avoid any more grumpiness from John, he offered to order takeaway as his treat. They ate together and watched a movie that Sherlock found utterly ridiculous. However, he kept that information to himself. Or rather tried to -- about an hour in, he couldn't help himself and spent ten minutes explaining all of the holes in the plot.

John tried turning up the telly to drown out Sherlock's talking before taking it to an obscene level and having to simply tell Sherlock to shut up. He felt a little bad about it, though, so when the movie was almost over he asked Sherlock to explain again. Sherlock didn't answer, and John quietly apologised and put the news on for a bit.

Eventually, Sherlock stood up. "I think I'll go to bed," he said, though he knew after spending most of the day there already, it'd be hours before he'd actually fall asleep. However, he didn't want to annoy or be annoyed by John anymore this evening. He moved into the kitchen to make himself one more cup of tea. "So are you off in the morning for your new job?" he asked.

"Um, not it's not everyday -- I work Monday, Wednesday, Friday," he said. "So I don't work again until Wednesday."

"Right," Sherlock said, pouring the water. "But you didn't work today, did you? You mean you start on Wednesday?"

"Right, yes," John agreed quickly. He'd forgotten he'd told Sherlock he was only interviewing today. "I start Wednesday."

Odd, Sherlock thought, but really, was it and did it matter? "Okay then," he said. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning then."

John nodded. "Right. Good night," he said, pushing himself up.

Sherlock carried his tea into his room, setting it on his bedside table before going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. For some reason, he really fancied a cigarette. He didn't smoke one, though; he'd knew John would know. He got onto the bed and opened his laptop and looked over his own website, trying to think of ways to make it less boring (John's words).


	2. Immediate Repercussions

John slept fitfully through the night which didn't do anything to help his leg in the morning. He was glad there wasn't a class today. Despite the fact that he'd have to deal with Sherlock's mood, he hoped Sherlock wouldn't find a case for them. He wanted to rest before the next class. 

Sherlock's late night investigations brought no joy, but when he woke up in the morning, he was determined to find a case. He got up early, showered (and dressed this time), and boiled the kettle. He poured himself one cup, but dropped a tea bag in John's mug for when he came downstairs.

John took a shower when he finally got out of bed, making his way to the kitchen and pouring a cup of tea. He saw Sherlock at the desk again and let him work, quietly reading the paper in his chair.

Sherlock glanced up, trying to read John's face. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning," John said, glancing up at Sherlock. "Anything on?"

"Not yet," Sherlock said. "But I'll find something." He took a sip of tea. "You sleep all right?"

"Yeah, I did," John smiled. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "So you won't be harassing me today or is that still going to happen?"

"I've never harassed you!"

"Right," Sherlock said. "I appear to have been mistaken." He threw a pen over at John. "Could you hand me that pen, please?" he asked with a smile.

John tossed the pen back at Sherlock and lifted the paper like a shield.

"So what are you going to be doing today then if you're not starting that job?" Sherlock asked. He closed up his laptop and wandered over to his chair.

"I don't know," John said. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Well, should we do something?" Sherlock said. "We could just go on a walk, just get out of the flat for a bit."

"Sorry, I think I'd rather just rest," John said.

"I thought you said you had a good night's sleep?" Sherlock asked. "You need a rest from that?"

"I just . . . walking too much is uncomfortable and I might be on my feet a lot tomorrow so . . . I just want to relax."

Sherlock nodded and took a sip of tea. He wasn't quite sure what that meant -- was John going to literally do nothing all day? He found that a bit hard to imagine, but it didn't matter, he wasn't going to be here to watch it. "I'm going to see a possible lead," he said. "Well, that might be too hopeful, but it can't hurt to try." He stood up and moved to the kitchen. "You'll just be here then?" he asked. "All day?"

"So you did find a case?" John asked, turning to look at Sherlock over his chair.

"Not yet," Sherlock said. "But hopefully -- well, possibly -- by the time I return I might have something for us." He knew he was being a bit desperate and that the man he was meeting was a long shot, but he wanted to sound confident. "Should I bring something in for dinner?"

"Yeah, that would be good. I'll keep my phone close in case it turns into something more," John said.

Sherlock felt his face reveal a small smile as he washed up his mug. John was always so positive -- it was often annoying but this morning he found it quite nice. He turned and picked up a few things from his desk, slung his coat on and headed out the door.

John stood and, when he was sure that Sherlock was gone, he slowly practiced the moves he had learned in his first class. His leg was sore, but so far it was tolerable. 

Sherlock didn't get much from his contact so he stopped round to catch Lestrade who really didn't have anything for him either.

"Where's your new colleague?" Greg asked.

"At the flat," Sherlock asked. "Why?"

"No reason," Lestrade answered. "Just the last few times I've seen you, he's been right there next to you. Just odd, I suppose."

"Odd that he's been there or odd that today's he not?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh I don't know, Sherlock," Lestrade said, fussing with some papers. "I don't have time for you to turn my comments into a case . . . You know I'll call you when I've got something, but I've not got anything, all right?"

"Fine," Sherlock said, turning and heading out. He thought about Lestrade's comment; he really couldn't tell if it had a hidden meaning. Reading social cues was not Sherlock's specialty. He started walking towards the flat. As he did, he pulled out his phone.

_On my way back. What do you want to eat? SH_

John looked at the text, getting up from the sofa to move to his chair. 

_I'm fine with anything. How was the meeting? -JW_

_I'll get Chinese. SH_

Sherlock slipped his phone into his pocket and turned the corner to go get dinner. He carried the bag of food up the stairs and into the flat, depositing it on the table. "What have you been doing then?" he asked John as he hung up his coat and toed off his shoes.

"Not much," he said smelling the food happily.

"I see," Sherlock said, picking up a fork and one of the food containers. "Well, I've been incredibly busy," he added as he moved over to his chair.

"Right, tell me about the meeting," John said.

Sherlock stuffed his mouth full of food and began chewing, quickly realising he'd overloaded. He chewed for a few moments before swallowing and then vaguely said, "Well, I don't have specifics at the moment but I'm sure it won't be long until something appears." He tried to look incredibly interested in a piece of paper sitting on the table next to him.

John watched him for a moment but didn't press him for more. "Great," he smiled, turning his focus back to his own food.

"I suppose you're just planning on doing nothing the rest of the evening," Sherlock said. "What is this job anyway, that forces you into total laziness in preparation?" he asked, turning to face John.

"It's --" John started. "It's just . . . I'll be seeing patients, that's all. But I might have to be on my feet a lot and that's not easy for me, so I just want to relax when I can." He glanced at Sherlock but didn't properly focus on him. 

Sherlock made a small humph under his breath. He was convinced that 'being on his feet' was not really hard for John -- not physically at least. But they'd already had this conversation, and he didn't feel like having it again. "Well, I won't disturb you this evening," he said. "Since we do have a little downtime in between cases, I'm going to work on an experiment I've been meaning to try." He took another bite. "I will try to keep the noise and mess to a minimum."

"Where? Here in the kitchen?" John asked. He wouldn't mind watching, if he was honest. He liked spending time with Sherlock and as long as they weren't discussing this 'job' of his, he didn't see why they couldn't spend the evening together.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Unless you're planning to forbid me." He turned around towards John again. "Are you?"

"No, I'm not," he said, shaking his head.

"Good," Sherlock said, getting up and taking his half empty carton into the kitchen. "I could probably use some help. . . if it's not too tiring for you," he said as he clicked the kettle back on and set out two mugs.

John looked over in surprise. "Really? Okay," he said. "I mean, maybe, it depends what I have to do."

"It won't involve any running, so you should be fine," Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes but didn't argue, finishing his meal and putting the leftovers away.

Once they'd finished their tea, Sherlock got up and went to his desk, digging out some old notes. "Here's what we're going to look at," he said, handing the paper to John and then moving to get out some chemicals.

John looked over the notes and then at the chemicals Sherlock had put on the table. He read them over and then tried his best to help while Sherlock mixed and measured different things. John didn't properly understand it, but it was better than being alone and moping about his leg, especially in the anticipation of another hard class in the morning.

Sherlock was secretly pleased John agreed to work with him. He hadn't ever really said it aloud, but he quite liked John. Yes, he was useful with the cases, but he was just . . . fun was the only word that came to Sherlock's mind, though it was never a word he'd found much interest in before John. John had changed quite a lot of his world actually.

"We need some fresh blood," Sherlock said. "You interested in volunteering?"

John looked over at Sherlock and considered it for a moment before putting his finger out. "I knew the risks," he said dramatically. 

Sherlock gave a wicked smile. "Can you hand me a knife -- the butcher's one?" he teased as he pulled a lancet from a box and began to unwrap it. "Do you want to do or shall I?"

John pushed his finger closer. "You can," he smiled. 

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and lined up the lancet. "Ready on three," he said, looking up into John's eyes. "One, two --" and he poked John's skin, squeezing his finger before pulling it to a slide and smearing the blood. "You were a very brave boy," he said with a smile. "Stick in your mouth for one minute, and it'll be all healed."

John laughed, folding the napkin to press against his finger. "Such a professional," he smiled.

"My impressive bedside manner is well documented," Sherlock said. He looked into the microscope. "Excellent," he mumbled.

"Can I see?" John asked.

Sherlock stepped to the side. "The reaction is what I was hoping to see," he said as John looked through the microscope. "So either you have extraordinary blood or I'm extremely clever. Or I suppose it could be both."

"What does it prove? For your experiment, I mean."

"Nothing," Sherlock said, as he began to clean up.

"Was this all a trick to poke me?" John teased, watching Sherlock as he cleared away his things.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "It was only an unexpected benefit." He moved to the sink and washed his hands. "Thanks, though. It was helpful and . . . I enjoyed working with you."

"Yeah, me too," John said. 

Sherlock glanced up at the clock. "John, it's almost midnight," he said. "I hope I didn't keep you up too late."

"No, it's okay," John said. He stretched and stood up. 

"What time do you have to leave? Will I be up or still asleep?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll leave the flat at ten," John said. "You should be up by then."

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "Depends on what I get up to after you go to bed."

"Well, I'm off then," John said.

"Ill try to keep the noise to a minimum," Sherlock said with a cheeky grin. He sat down at his desk to open his laptop and start writing up his notes.

John made his way up to bed. He lay down, set his alarm, and closed his eyes to try to sleep. More lying tomorrow. But it was for a good reason. He imagined Sherlock's surprise when he could suddenly walk properly again. He hoped he'd be pleased. John shifted and got more comfortable. He smiled softly, putting his finger into his mouth for a moment before flushing and shaking his head at himself. Silly. He drifted off to sleep shortly after that.


	3. John's Not Better Yet

In the morning, John woke up before his alarm and got dressed as if he was going into the office. In his medical bag, he had more loose fitting clothes for the dance class. He made himself some toast and sat at the table to eat. Sherlock had cleaned up everything from last night.

Sherlock had only gone to bed a few hours before he heard John in the kitchen. He was tempted to stay there, but now that he was awake, he realised he needed the toilet. He put his dressing gown around him and nipped to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. "Sleep okay?" he asked as he poured himself some tea.

John nodded. For the first time in a while, he truly had. "Were you up long?"

"A bit," Sherlock said vaguely. "I just wanted to get all my notes down." He looked over at John. "So are you ready to go back to work? You sure you're still into 'healing' people and all that ridiculous business?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure." Not a total lie, because he was healing himself. Or trying to. He stood and grabbed his bag. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Right," Sherlock said and watched him go. He stood up and moved to the window to continue watching him as he limped away. He seemed a bit nervous, which Sherlock guessed made sense since it was his first day back to work. He hoped, though, that John wouldn't end up at the surgery full time. Even though occasionally John annoyed him, Sherlock had grown quite used to him being around. Liked it in fact. Very much. He stood there for a few more minutes and then went to his computer, hoping to find a case.

A hard class, for John at least. He was limping hard, but he felt good. He remembered the moves, even though he was a bit slow doing them with his partner. On his way home, he realised that he hadn't been gone long enough for it to be a proper work day. He went to the park and sat by the water, playing on his phone. When he got too bored, he decided to head home and make up an excuse if Sherlock questioned him.

Sherlock hadn't found much satisfaction from the one query in his inbox -- it didn't seem like it'd come to much -- but he'd quickly arranged an appointment for this afternoon, just in case. He was lying on the sofa, lost in his mind palace, when John came in. He sat up quickly and looked over. "Did you get sacked already?" he asked.

"No, it was just slow and I wasn't needed all day."

"Right, fine," Sherlock said, although it seemed a little odd. However, Sherlock Holmes had never really had a proper job, so maybe that's how things normally worked in that world. "Regardless," he continued. "We've got an appointment in an hour so go get ready." 

John sighed. "I think I'll sit this one out. I want to lie down for a bit," he explained.

Sherlock didn't like that response and was about to tell John that fact, but something stopped him. "All right then," he said. He got up and used the bathroom, grabbing a few things off his desk before heading to the door. "I probably won't be long."

John looked up at him now, surprised he didn't put up more of a fight about. "Right, okay. Thanks," he added, sinking into his chair with a soft sigh. 

Sherlock glanced one more at him and then left. As he walked to the appointment, he thought a bit more about John. Actually, he felt a little annoyed that John hadn't come with him. However, he was more annoyed at himself than at John. He couldn't help but hear Mycroft's voice in his head, telling Sherlock how childish and selfish he was. _The whole world doesn't revolve around you_ , Mycroft had told him. Now Sherlock was doing that again with John -- in his heart, Sherlock did want John's whole world to revolve around him. It was just easier. Well, easier for Sherlock.

But he was trying not to be so childish and selfish with John. Mycroft could complain but he'd never stop being Sherlock's brother. John, on the other hand, could just leave. Sherlock did not want that to happen.

He opened the door to the cafe and immediately spotted the client. Suddenly all thoughts about John were gone, and Sherlock focused on getting a case. 

John say in his chair for a half hour before giving up. He couldn't get comfortable. He went up to his bed and lay down.

_How's it going? -JW_

Sherlock didn't get the text until he was leaving. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed.

_Possibly well. Am going to do some preliminary research. Back later. SH_

John made a resigned face and put his phone down. He didn't like not being out with Sherlock. Maybe this dancing thing was nonsense if it was stopping him from keeping up with Sherlock, the very thing it was supposed to be helping with. He turned on his back and rubbed his thigh. At some point he dozed off, waking up to a much dimmer room. He got up and checked his phone below making his way down. Sherlock wasn't home yet. He stated the kettle and took out leftovers for dinner.

Sherlock had lost all track of time -- when he left the library, it was dark. He wondered if he should pick up dinner.

_Heading home. Need food? SH_

_I'm having leftovers. -JW_

Sherlock grabbed a taxi and then climbed the stairs to the flat, coming in just as John was finishing his food. "Sorry," he said as he moved to his desk. "I didn't think I'd be that long."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry I couldn't help."

"I need to organise my thoughts," Sherlock said, opening his laptop. "But I'll definitely need your help tomorrow, yeah? You don't have to go to your new job, do you?"

"No, not tomorrow," John said. "What are we doing tomorrow?" 

"I'll have a list for us in the morning," Sherlock said tersely. "As I said, I need to get organised."  
  
John nodded and didn't say anything else. When he finished eating, he made for the steps again. "Right, I'll leave you to it," he said. He was a bit annoyed that after being gone all day Sherlock didn't want to talk to him. He realised that was a stupid thought. Sherlock's work came first for him. Up to this point, John was a part of that work, but it was no one's fault but his own that he wasn't included today.

Sherlock worked steadily, getting up only to make cups of tea or check a few things from old cases. When he realised he needed sleep, he saw that it was almost 4am. He hadn't meant to stay up that long, but he also felt strangely satisfied -- he loved being so immersed in his work that time didn't matter. He scribbled a note and left it on the table and then crashed onto his bed.

John woke up early from another nightmare. His leg ached as he sat up and stretched. When he stood, he told himself it was a little better than yesterday. A lie, but he needed the classes to be working. He made his way down to the kitchen and saw Sherlock's note, turning the kettle on before knocking on Sherlock's door.

Sherlock rolled over at the noise. It felt like he'd just gone to sleep. "Leave me alone," he said grumpily.

"You said to wake you," John said at the door before leaving for the kitchen again.

Sherlock was already out again. He slept for another two hours and then heard John moving about. He got up and went to the kitchen. "You were supposed to wake me up," he said grumpily as he reached for a mug. "We've got a lot of work to do."

John ignored him, shaking his head as he continued reading the paper.

Sherlock stretched and stood around drinking his tea until he finally felt awake. Then he moved over his desk to check his work from last night. Once he'd added two more things to each list, he stood up again and carried the pages over to John, handing him one. "You do these," he said. "The rest I can handle," he added waving the second list.

John looked over the list. "There's a lot of running around on here," he said carefully.

Sherlock looked at John as if to say "So?" but he didn't say anything aloud.

"I can't promise all of these," he said.

"I see," Sherlock said. "Because you can't be bothered?" he asked.

"No," John said, trying not to sound irritated. "You know why."

"Because --" Sherlock started, ready to make a sarcastic remark. And then he remembered: he did know why. He still didn't feel happy about it -- John's limp was so clearly psychosomatic -- but John didn't think so and ultimately that's all that mattered. "Fine," he said taking the list back. "I'll see what I can get done on my own."

"I can do some," John said, reaching for the list again. "Let me have it and I'll try. I'll do what I can," he said. He wouldn't look at Sherlock. He hated this. 

Sherlock had a moment of confused panic. He wasn't sure what to do. What he wanted to do was to keep pouting until John said he'd quit this stupid new job and stop having a limp and go on cases whenever Sherlock wanted. But Sherlock knew that was probably not likely or fair. So he handed John the list and tried to speak calmly, "Mark the ones you can do, and I'll finish up the rest."

"I'll just keep in touch throughout the day," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'm going to go get ready," he added and headed back towards his bedroom.

John looked over his list and started rearranging it in his head, picking what would be the easiest to accomplish first. He wanted to do it all. He would try.

They were both ready to go at the same time and headed out to the kerb. Sherlock hailed a cab for John, and then he himself turned and began walking to his first destination.

He quickly moved from place to place -- a few stops were useless but he did pick up some information along the way. After a while he pulled out his phone.

_Learn anything? SH_

John slowly made his way through the list. The reality was he really didn't have a job yet, so he didn't have extra cash to keep throwing at cabs. he was walking more than he should have been, especially after pushing him limits with the dance class. He was half way through the list and suffering badly, but he kept thinking of Sherlock snatching the list and easily cutting him out of the work. He finally had purpose again -- or was starting to -- he couldn't let this be ruined. He kept going, finally having to stop when there were three things still left to do. 

_I've taken notes, but I can't do the last three. -JW_

_I'm sorry. -JW_

Sherlock was in a taxi on his way to Baker Street when John's texts came through. He frowned. He'd just have to do them tomorrow when John was at his stupid, new, apparently more important job. He didn't bother sending a reply.

At the flat John sank onto the sofa to put his feet up on the arm. He had overdone it today, and he felt ashamed to admit it. This is what working with Sherlock was like, and he couldn't keep up like this.

Sherlock got out of the cab and unlocked the door. He climbed the stairs and went in, noticing John on the sofa. He was rubbing his leg. "Um, I'm home," he said awkwardly and totally unnecessarily.

John pushed himself up, barely concealing his wince. "How did it go? I'm sorry I couldn't do everything -- I can go out tomorrow afternoon."

"It's all right," Sherlock said, his voice softer than he'd expected. "I'll make some tea," he added and quickly moved into the kitchen. His stomach hurt and, despite his ability to pretend he didn't have feelings, he knew he was having one right now and that feeling was guilt. Since John had moved in here, it'd been so good -- he was helpful and smart and he was the one person Sherlock genuinely enjoyed being around. Yet all this time his leg was hurting. Regardless of Sherlock's thoughts on the matter, John's leg was causing him pain. And Sherlock had not only ignored it, he'd probably made it worse and he'd also got angry with John about it. Those things were causing the guilt in Sherlock's stomach, and there was no way he could pretend he didn't feel it.

He carried two mugs back to the sitting room. "I'll look over your notes in a bit," he said, trying to sound casual. "We might have enough information already . . . we probably won't need to go anywhere else."

John took the mug and nodded. "Okay. Well, like I said I can tomorrow if you need me to, I don't mind."

"We'll be fine," Sherlock said. He took a sip of tea. "Don't you work tomorrow anyway?" he asked.

"Yeah, in the morning," he said.

"Well, that'll be good," Sherlock said, as convincingly as he could. "Hopefully tomorrow you'll be able to see some patients -- get back to what you do best. And it's part time, right?" He continued before John got a chance to answer. "So you and I will still be able to work together. Extra cash as well. Yes, it's quite a good situation." He stopped talking and put his mug to his mouth.

John looked over at him, his stomach twisting with guilt. "Yeah, it's good."

"I'll tell you what," Sherlock said. "I should have this case done tomorrow -- why don't I take you out to dinner to celebrate a solved case and your new job?"

"Okay, sure," John said quietly, carefully shifting his body on the sofa.

"Do you need anything?" Sherlock said, standing up quickly. "I'll get it for you -- what do you need?"

"Hmm? No, I'm okay for now," he said. He watched Sherlock. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Sherlock said. "Are you okay?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I just wondered because . . . I don't know. You seem . . . nervous," he explained lamely.

"I'm not nervous -- why would I be nervous?" Sherlock asked in a way that he knew made him sound incredibly nervous. He sat down again and finished up his tea. "I'm fine . . . sorry, it's probably just from rushing around. I'm going to make another cup of tea and then start organising things. Did you take notes?"

John nodded and took the little book out of his pocket. He stretched to hold it out to Sherlock.

Sherlock stood up and grabbed, tossing it over to his desk. Then he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Should I make you some dinner later?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "There's no leftovers any more."

"All right, I'll make something," Sherlock said, carrying his mug to his desk. "I'm going to work now, okay? If you need something, let me know."

"Okay," John said, now lying flat against the cushions. 

Sherlock flipped through John's notebook and found much of the information he'd been looking for. He typed it all up and then stared at the pages for a while. "Excellent work, Watson," he said, finally getting up to stretch. That's when he noticed it was almost all dark out, and John was asleep on the sofa. He moved over and looked at him for a few moments. Then he tapped his arm lightly. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Hmm?" John started. He yawned and nodded. "Okay."

"What do you want? I could do some Thai if you want," Sherlock said softly.

"Sure," John said. "Anything is fine. Do you need help?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I've got it all under control." He disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments and then came back out, stopping to make some tea. He carried it into the sitting room. "Dinner'll be ready in about three quarters of an hour," he said as he settled into his chair.

John watched him. "Aren't you going to start cooking?"

"It's all taken care of," Sherlock said, reaching round to find the remote. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over it." He tossed the found remote to John. "Choose something for us to watch."

John narrowed his eyes lightly before starting to flick through the channels.

After about a half hour, Sherlock stood up and wandered towards the window. A few minutes later, he said, "Dinner's ready," and then quickly hurried out the flat door and down the stairs.

John got up and moved to the window, watching the delivery boy leave. He turned to Sherlock when he came back up. "You're such a good cook."

Sherlock carried the food into the kitchen and started to dish it up. "I'm providing you with dinner, aren't I?" he said with a smile as he carried it in. "Don't get so hung up on details."

John rolled his eyes but he moved back to the sofa before taking his plate from Sherlock. 

They ate and watched the film John had found. Sherlock quite enjoyed it. Despite his earlier feelings, the day had actually been quite good.

When John finished eating he set his plate on the coffee table and sighed softly. "So you think you have enough to finish up the case?" 

"I do," Sherlock said. "We did well -- we're a good team, Doctor Watson." He smiled over at him.

John smiled. "That's good. I'm glad."

"Do you go into work tomorrow at the same time?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, looking at the telly again. "Yeah."

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "I think I'm going to have a bath and then go think for a while. If you go to bed soon, have a good night. I'll be up early so I'll see you before you leave." He carried his dishes to the sink. "I'll do these in the morning, okay?" he called before heading to the bathroom.

"I will go up to bed. See you tomorrow. Thanks for dinner," John said.

"You're welcome, John Watson," Sherlock said. "And thank you for your help."

Sherlock turned on the bath and let it run as he went to the bedroom to get his pajamas. He returned and sunk into the hot water. It felt good. He leaned back and closed his eyes, finalising the details of the case in his head. He did want to check something at one of the places John had skipped, but he could do that in the morning and was confident the case was as good as solved.

John lay in bed thinking about the day. He hoped Sherlock wasn't lying about the case being solved. He was glad to have helped, at least a little. It took a while for him to fall asleep.

Sherlock stood up and dried off, moving into his bedroom. He lay down on top of his bed and closed his eyes. Eventually sleep came to him.


	4. Sherlock Finds A Question

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he heard John in the kitchen. He sat up and went out. "You feeling all right?" he asked John, yawning as he waited for the kettle to boil again.

"Yeah, I'm okay. You? Did you sleep okay?" John asked.

"I did," Sherlock said. "Though I forgot to get into the bed. How are you feeling about work then? I didn't think about this before, but don't bring home any infections, all right?"

John looked over at Sherlock and nodded slowly. "I won't. I'm careful," he said. He was going to have to find something to do with himself today. He couldn't keep coming home early.

"What time will you back?" Sherlock said. "Do you still want to get dinner?"

"I'll be home for dinner, plenty of time," he said. "I don't know what time exactly."

Sherlock looked over. It seemed an odd comment, but then he remembered John saying they'd let him out early the first day. "All right," he said. "I don't think I'll be gone long, so I'm sure I'll be back before you, but let's say 7 for dinner, yeah?"

"Okay," John agreed. He made a mental note to text Sherlock before he came home; at least that way, he could try to come home after Sherlock.

Sherlock finished his tea and got dressed. He grabbed his notes and started to put on his coat. "Shall we share a taxi?" he asked John.

"Uh, yeah, we can drop you off first," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said. He slipped his scarf around his neck and they headed out. He got them a cab and directed the driver. When the car pulled up outside his destination, he looked over at John and said, "I hope it all goes well. I'll see you later." He gave him a smile and got out.

John waved before giving the driver directions to the studio. He couldn't help looking out of the back window several times, worried Sherlock was following him. He was suspicious because he knew he was lying. He'd have to follow up on some of those job applications soon, though the thought overwhelmed him a bit.

It took Sherlock two hours, a bit longer than he'd expected, but he found the information he needed as confirmation. He called the client and met her at lunch. She was pleased and so was he. He headed back to the flat.

At the end of his class, John was trying not to admit that this wasn't getting any easier. His leg was nearly impossible to stand on, which annoyed him even more because, at the end of the day, it was all in his head. The thought of sitting at the park for a couple hours to out wait Sherlock made him feel even worse. He left and stood on the kerb to wait for a cab, texting Sherlock. 

_How'd it go? -JW_

_All's well. Stop bothering me. Go look in someone's ear or something. SH_

Sherlock smiled to himself, set his phone on the table and got up to make a cup of tea. He heard a knock on the door so he moved to answer it.

"Hello," he said. "I'm making tea. Come in."  
  
Mrs Hudson stepped inside. "No tea for me," she said, glancing around the flat. "You look pleased with yourself."

"I normally am," he said, pouring the water into his mug. "But today I am especially pleased because I've just finished a case."

She moved into the kitchen. "I thought you might be pleased for Doctor Watson," she said as she fiddled with the newspaper on the table.

"Why's that then?" he asked.

"It looks like he's going to have a job," she said.

"I know," he said. "He's there right now."

"They've already called for an interview?" she asked.

Sherlock sat down at the table. "No, today's his second day," he said as he picked up the paper and began flicking through it.

"That's odd," she said.

"Uh-huh," Sherlock said, skimming an article about a murder.

"I got the sense they were checking his references when they called," she said. "Maybe it was just a formality. . ."

Sherlock turned and looked at her. "Who called?"

"The woman from the surgery. . . I can't remember her name," she said. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

Sherlock set the newspaper down. "Of course not," he said. He took another sip of tea. "What was the name of the surgery?" he asked casually. 

"Oh, I don't remember," she said. "We can just ask John when he comes home."

Sherlock thought for a second. "Yes, of course we can," he said. He took a slow sip of tea and swallowed. A few moments later he said, "If you don't have the name of the surgery, perhaps I could get the phone number that called you?"

"Why?"

Sherlock looked over at her, giving her one of his faces.

"Oh, don't bother explaining," she said, getting up from her chair. "I don't even want to know what's going on in that head of yours. I'll go check my phone."

She headed downstairs and then Sherlock's phone vibrated. He copied down the number she'd sent him and then dialed it.

When a woman answered, he said, "I'd like to make an appointment with Doctor Watson, please."  
  
"There's no Doctor Watson here," she answered.

Sherlock hung up the phone and set it down on the table. Then he stood up and moved to the window, staring out into the street. Then he moved to his chair. He sat down and stared across to John's chair. Then he closed his eyes and said aloud, "John Watson, why are you lying to me?" He kept his eyes closed as he tried to find the answer.

John managed 45 minutes on the park bench before he couldn't take it anymore. He took a cab back to the flat and made his way up slowly. He guessed he'd have to claim it was another slow day. He hoped Sherlock would believe him, though why would they hire someone if they couldn't even keep him busy? John was too tired and sore to care at the moment. When he walked in and saw Sherlock in his chair with his eyes closed, he quietly made his way for the stairs. 

When Sherlock heard John head upstairs, he opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. "I'll make us some tea," he said enthusiastically as he headed into the kitchen. "Tell me about your day." 

"I thought I'd lie down a bit until dinner, do you mind?" John asked, waiting on the steps.

Sherlock looked over at John. He looked tired. Why? "No, that's fine," he said. "Whatever you need to do is fine," he added as he turned around and clicked on the kettle.

John swallowed hard. "I'm sorry . . . we can talk over dinner," he suggested. "Or I could lay on the sofa?" He didn't fancy lying about how he spent his day, but he didn't like this any better.

"No, go on," Sherlock said. "You should rest." He poured his tea and moved to his desk. "Like you said, we can talk over dinner. Seven, right?"

John nodded. "Seven, yes. I'll see you then," he said. He made his way up to his room again, lying down and staring up at the ceiling.

Sherlock opened up his laptop and quickly typed up today's notes. He wasn't really thinking about them or the case obviously, he was thinking about John. He wondered if he should just go upstairs and ask him for the truth, ask him why he's been pretending to go to a job he doesn't actually have.

That would be easiest in some ways, but not in one important way. What if the reason for the lie was Sherlock himself? What if John just didn't want to be around Sherlock anymore and had invented an excuse to get out of the flat and out of working on cases? Sherlock didn't want to face that. Because that would lead to Sherlock having to admit he had feelings and that those feelings had been hurt. It was bad enough feeling guilty yesterday, he didn't want . . . wait a minute, all those feelings of guilt had been for nothing! Sherlock hadn't needed to feel bad for tiring out John before his first proper day of work -- he wasn't going to work. Now Sherlock had another feeling: embarrassment. He'd been tricked. Embarrassment quickly turned to anger. It also strengthened his revolve. John couldn't trick him anymore -- Sherlock Holmes was going to find out the truth. 

He went to the blog and read over John's most recent posts, scanning the comments below for any clues. There were one or two that seemed overly friendly and John's reply matched the tone -- was he trying to use the blog to conspire with others against Sherlock? That seemed a bit stupid really. In truth, there were no clues on the blog. This was going to take some proper investigation.

John fell asleep for a little while, but he kept snapping awake thinking that he missed dinner. After the third time he got up and made his way back down to the sitting room. "Sherlock? How's it going?"

"Good," Sherlock said, shutting his laptop quickly. He glanced at the clock. "Maybe a cup of tea before we go," he said, standing up. "Or we can go now? Or we can skip it if you want?"

"No, I'm hungry," he said. "We can have tea first if you want."

Sherlock moved to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He was thinking carefully. When he brought the tea in, he decided to explain his day to John. He went over every detail -- even the unnecessary ones -- as they drank their tea. He decided his initial interrogation of John would work better in public, so he didn't mention a single thing about John's day.

John listened carefully and nodded along and paid attention. "I'm glad you solved the case. I'm glad I helped a bit."

"You did," Sherlock said quite seriously. "Your help was essential." He got up and took his mug to the sink and then moved to the door. "Should we go?"

John stood up and got his coat. "Yes, let's. I haven't eaten since breakfast," he said. 

Sherlock said nothing but filed away that information for later reference. Once outside, he got them a taxi and they headed off.

"I thought we'd go somewhere different tonight," he said. "It's Turkish food. You don't have any problem doing something different, do you?"

John shook his head. "No, that's fine. I'm sure you can recommend something good," he smiled. 

"I can," Sherlock said. "I appreciate that you take my advice, John. My intentions are always good, you know."

John nodded. "Well, I trust you," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. The cab pulled up and then went inside. A server came and led them back, nodding towards the floor before stepping up two stairs to a small table.

"We take off our shoes here," Sherlock said. "And sit on cushions. Or do you want a chair?" he asked.

"Um . . . I think a cushion will be fine," John said. "It might be a little hard to get up after, but I think I can manage."

"I'll help you if you need it," Sherlock said, sitting down. "That's what we do . . . help each other." He took the menu from the server, quickly ordering a pot of tea before she left. "What are you hungry for?" he asked John.

John looked over the menu. "I don't know. What do you recommend?" he asked. 

"If you want meat, I suggest that," Sherlock said, leaning over and pointing to an entree. "We can get some starters as well so you can try a few things."

"Okay," John nodded. "I'm up for trying new things."

"Such as?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" John asked. "I'm just saying, in general, I mean, I like most foods." He shrugged and looked at the menu again.

Hmmm, Sherlock thought as he looked over at John who obviously thought he was quite clever, dodging the question, even though he was entirely unaware that Sherlock was actually in the process of interrogating him. He closed his menu, and a few moments later the server came back with their tea. Sherlock ordered for both of them and she disappeared into the kitchen.

"So," Sherlock said as he picked up his cup and held the fragrant warmth near his face. "Would you like to tell me about today?"

"There's not much to say. I went to work, you know, and it was just busy. I saw a lot of patients but . . . there's enough doctors at the moment so I didn't have to stay all day. One is planning on leaving so I will get more hours then." John could hardly believe what he was saying. He realised he was already setting up the moment when he really did get a job and had to explain why suddenly he had to work proper hours. This was getting out of hand, but felt too far into it to back out now. He kept his focus on his tea and hoped that was enough information for now.

"Right," Sherlock said. "And you get along with the other doctors?"

"Mmhm, they're nice," he said vaguely.

"And you knew them before you started working there, I think you said?" Sherlock asked casually, taking a sip of tea.

"No, I've only just met them. Oh look, the food," he said to distract Sherlock. "Tell me about all of this."

"It's food," Sherlock said tersely, watching as the server set everything down. He had a think for a moment and decided to take a different approach. "She's quite cute, don't you think?" he asked.

"Who?" John asked, looking up as the waitress was walking away. "I suppose so."

"Maybe you should ask her out," Sherlock suggested. Perhaps that was the issue with John -- romance. But if he was seeing someone, why was he only going on dates with her at 10 in the morning? That seemed odd, but the world of romance was quite foreign to Sherlock. Unless . . . was John going to a prostitute each morning? Was that it? Sherlock's head instinctively shook as he looked over at John. That couldn't be it. "Unless there's someone at work you're interested in . . ." he added.

"No, I'm not. I'm fine. I don't want -- why are you being so . . .nosy?" he asked, turning his focus to the food again.

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment. Then he took a bite of food, washed it down with a sip of tea, and set his fork on the table. In a low voice, he said, "Trying to have a conversation with my colleague and flatmate is _not_ being nosy. I thought it was being friendly. I thought we were friends. I apologise if I've misinterpreted things." He picked his fork back up and took another bite.

"Sherlock --" John cut off and licked his lips. "I'm sorry, you're right. We are friends. I'm just not interested in the waitress or any one at the surgery, that's all."

Sherlock ate in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. "Are we friends, John?" he asked.

"I think so, yes," John said.

"I thought so, too," Sherlock said quietly. Because it was true. "You're my only friend really . . . I know I'm not always good at all that, but . . ."

"Why do you say that?" John asked.

"I know I'm not . . . you know, fun," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, why do you think that? I have fun with you," John said.

"Because. . . well, you know," Sherlock said. "I don't have much to offer outside of cases . . . I can see why you might need . . . I don't know . . . more."

"Do you mean my job? That's for bills," John said.

"We can pay our bills, John," Sherlock said quickly and then paused. "I didn't mean money anyway. I meant . . . whatever it is you are missing."

"What do you think I'm missing?" He asked Sherlock.

"I --" Sherlock started and then quietly continued. "-- don't know, John. If I did, I'd do my best to give it to you."

John's eyes were moving quickly over Sherlock's face, but John couldn't figure out what this was about. "Um, I know, Sherlock. I'm not missing anything. I mean, nothing vital."

Sherlock looked up and over at John. "I don't believe you," he said plainly. "Maybe you don't know the answer or maybe you don't want to tell me. I guess I'll have to be okay with that." He moved his plate to the side a little and fiddled with his napkin. "So did you like the food?" he said, awkwardly trying to change the subject

John continued looking at him, his stomach twisting again. "The food is good," he murmured.

"Good," Sherlock said. He lifted his glass and added, "Well, congratulations to both of us."

John lifted his glass and tapped it to Sherlock's before going back to his dinner. He didn't know what was happening -- Sherlock almost seemed jealous of the fact that John had this new job, which of course he didn't actually have. He thought about just confessing about what he was really doing out each day, but the idea made him feel so foolish. Not only because Sherlock didn't believe his leg was a problem but because of the lying he'd been doing. He prayed his leg would start feeling better, so he could just feel better and be truthful.

They ordered some coffee, and Sherlock tried to turn off his investigation. They chatted about relatively meaningless things, but it felt all right. At least Sherlock enjoyed it. The truth was he just enjoyed being with John -- he really couldn't think of anyone else in the entire world he felt that way about. He hoped John's excuse to get out of the flat didn't really mean John was trying to get away from, but he still had no evidence to really to dispel that possibility. He tried not to think about it.

When it was time to go, they stood outside to wait for the cab. "Did you have fun?" John asked.

"I always have fun with you, John," Sherlock said quietly.

John looked over at him. "Well, I do as well, with you, I mean."

Sherlock made a noise of acknowledgement and then stepped forward to open the door of the taxi for John. He got in on the other side and watched quietly out the window.

John kept glancing at Sherlock as they made their way back to the flat. It felt different between them, heavy. He didn't like it. He knew it was his own fault for lying. "Sherlock . . ." his voice trailed off as they reached the flat and paid. He followed Sherlock inside and upstairs, standing near his chair, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sherlock turned on the kettle and stared at the empty mugs. He hadn't responded to John's voice, waiting instead until the water had boiled and the tea had been poured. He set John's on the table and then picked his up.

"John," Sherlock said. "I know something is going on. I'd wanted to try to figure it out, but I've since decided not to. You are my friend and you have a right to your secrets. I wish you didn't feel the need to lie to me, but obviously you do and that's . . . just how it is, I suppose. I don't like it, but . . . that's just how it is." He turned to head toward his bedroom.

"I've been dancing," John blurted out. This wasn't supposed to be how Sherlock found out the truth, but his comments had thrown John for a loop.

Sherlock stopped and turned around. "You're what?"

"I'm taking a dance class, as a kind of physical therapy . . . to help my leg. It's supposed to be getting better, but I'm still getting used to it so now I'm probably even slower than before." John swallowed roughly. "I didn't want you to know. I just wanted you to think I was better. Maybe even be surprised. But at least you'd stopped being frustrated by how much I slow you down."

Sherlock tried to make it make sense in his head but he couldn't. "Dancing?" he asked.

John rubbed his neck again. "It was the least embarrassing option," he said.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and tried to picture. "In a leotard?" he asked.

"No! Just normal clothes. I've been taking them in my medical bag."

"And do you . . . no, I'm afraid I don't understand, John," Sherlock said.

John simply looked back at him. He didn't know what else to say.

"Why did you lie?" Sherlock asked.

"To surprise you," he said. "And because . . ." his voice trailed off.

Sherlock wasn't sure he could believe this surprise business. He certainly didn't understand it. "But if you'd told me the truth, maybe I could've helped," he said. "I know you know I don't understand your leg issue, but I. . . don't want you to be in pain. I could've helped or at least not made it worse."

"Well, I was embarrassed as well," John confessed. "I know you don't believe me about my leg."

"I believed you believed it," Sherlock mumbled. His own legs seemed to be hurting at the moment, and he wanted to sit down. This all felt a bit confusing. "I'm sorry, John," he said. "I guess I still don't understand. We both know your leg pain is psychosomatic, but that doesn't matter, does it, if you feel it. I guess I thought one day you wouldn't feel it anymore. But if that's not happened yet and you needed help, I . . . I'm your friend, right? I know I don't have a lot of experience with friendship, but even I know, friends are supposed to help. But you didn't ask for help -- you didn't even let me know you needed help. Instead . . . you lied to me." He turned back towards his bedroom. "I don't understand that," he said as he started to walk away.

John watched him and didn't call out again. His stomach was a mess of nerves and guilt. He slowly made his way up to his room.

Sherlock didn't bother turning on the light in his room instead just lying down to think. He tried to step outside, to examine himself and his reaction as if they were clues. What was Sherlock Holmes feeling? 

Confusion. He was definitely confused. It wasn't very often he was successfully lied to and that in and of itself confused him. But he was also confused about friendship. He'd been certain he and John were friends. But why wouldn't John have come to him for help? Why would John have hidden something from Sherlock? That didn't seem like the kind of things friends did to each other.

Sadness. Sherlock felt sad. He tried to face the feeling like an objective observer, but he couldn't. He knew it, he felt it. He liked John more than anyone he'd ever known and now he realised that perhaps the feeling wasn't mutual. And that made him very sad.

Although Sherlock liked to pretend none of his feelings mattered, he knew they did. And sadness was one that mattered most because it was a horrible feeling. He did not want to feel it anymore. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

_You are my best friend, John Watson. SH_


	5. They Find An Answer

John pulled his phone close and sighed softly.

_I just wanted to surprise you by suddenly being better. I'm sorry. -JW_

_You don't need to be better, John, you are already the best friend I've ever had. SH_

_I'm sorry. You're my best friend too. -JW_

_I want to be. I do. Sometimes I'm not even certain why because I've never had a friendship like ours. But please trust that it's true. SH_

_I believe you, Sherlock. I'm sorry I lied to you. -JW_

Sherlock stared at the message for a few moments. Then he slowly typed his reply.

_I know how to dance. I could have taught you. SH_

John blinked at the message. He didn't know what to say to that.

_That would have ruined the surprise. -JW_

_You keep talking about my being surprised. Does this mean you're intending to demonstrate your skills? Because that definitely would have surprised me. SH_

_I don't have skills. I'm just learning. -JW_

_Shame. SH_

_Why's that? -JW_

_I was hoping you'd pay back the betrayal by showing me what you've learned. SH_

_God, no. I'm not good. -JW_

_You should have chosen a better instructor then. SH_

_I mean it's not real dancing. I'm not a real dancer. It's more just for the exercise. -JW_

Sherlock smiled, picturing John in a leotard and legwarmers.

_You are a fool, John Watson. Only real dancing matters. SH_

John felt himself swell, getting caught up in the petty insult.

_Show me real dancing, then. -JW_

_Are you in your pajamas? SH_

_No. I don't wear pajamas. -JW  
_

_Are you nude? SH_

_I'm in my pants. -JW_

_I'm not teaching a man in his pants to dance. If you want a proper lesson, put on pajamas and meet me in the sitting room. SH_

Sherlock wasn't quite sure why he was doing this, but he got up from the bed and changed into his own pajamas and headed out of the room. He didn't turn on any lights, but just sat down in his chair.

John stared at the message. He couldn't be serious. But then he heard noise in the sitting room. He sat up and dressed, making his way down to the sitting room. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" Sherlock said. "I said I wanted to help you and I do. This is something I can help with."

John came down the rest of the way and stood in the sitting room, watching Sherlock. Now he was the one who was surprised.

"Forget everything that stupid teacher told you," Sherlock said, getting up quickly and moving over to the stereo. He switched on some music and then moved nearer to John, holding out his hand. "I'll show you real dancing," he said.

John looked at Sherlock's hand before taking it, putting his cane down and using Sherlock's hand instead.

Sherlock pulled him in, putting his hand on John's hip. "Any particular dance you'd like to learn?" he asked.

"You're the expert," he said softly.

"I am," Sherlock said softly. "I think we'll just start with the basics." He moved John's hand. "Hold my arm," he instructed before placing his hand back on John's hip. He started to sway their bodies slowly, finding the tempo of the music.

John focused on Sherlock's hands more than everything else, the soft weight of them on his body, holding him, guiding him into the gentle movement. He followed Sherlock's lead, gazing up at him.

"It's good, right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Um . . . what's the name of this again?" he asked teasingly.

"The music?" Sherlock asked. "I can play it," Sherlock said smugly. "Oh wait, I see . . . you were mocking my dance lesson." He pinched John's hip. "Fine, if you are ready to move onto the tango, just let me know."

John shook his head, holding Sherlock's gaze. "I like this."

"I like it too, John," Sherlock said and looked around the dark room. "I just like you, I guess. I . . . I've never really had a friend like you."

John nodded. Suddenly John realised he wasn't supporting himself on Sherlock anymore. And his leg didn't hurt. He looked down in surprise.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing with the music and the movement. And with John. He opened his eyes again and swallowed. "John," he said in a soft, low voice.

John lifted his eyes first, swallowed hard, then lifted his head. He met Sherlock's gaze, his pupils as dilated as John knew his own were. He closed the space and kissed Sherlock's mouth. It took Sherlock's brain a moment to process what was happening. When it did, he let it happen, kissing John as well as his hand slipped to the small of John's back. John pressed closer, his tongue darting out to test the limit of this kiss. Sherlock's brain tried to make sense of this move as well, but he didn't stop it. Instead he followed suit, dropping John's hand and wrapping both of his arms around John's body.

John started moving Sherlock backwards, keeping close to him as they kissed. When they bumped the wall he pulled back. "Can we go to your room?" he asked softly, kissing down Sherlock's jaw to his neck.

"Yes, what? Okay, yes," Sherlock said quickly. His brain at this point was far behind his body which was pressing forward into John's, his hand moving back to push both of them from the wall. "Come on," he said, urgently rushing them into his room.

John followed him, pressing him against the door as he kissed him hard again.

"God," Sherlock instinctively moaned as his hands lifted to grip John's cheeks. He turned his head slightly to deepen the kiss which was now the only thing on his mind.

John pushed his hands into Sherlock's t-shirt, moving up his stomach and around his sides to hold his back, to pull him closer. John's touch on his skin surprised Sherlock as did just how good it felt. He grabbed the bottom of John's t-shirt and lifted it up over his head, quickly letting his own hands roam up and down John's arms and back. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth before dropping his hands to the elastic band on Sherlock's pajamas. He pulled away with a huff and tugged them down as he dropped to his knees in front of him. He glanced up, mouthing Sherlock's cock through his pants.

"Jesus, John," Sherlock mumbled, letting a hand fall to John's shoulder as he glanced down. "What are you doing to me?"

John smiled softly before tugging his pants down as well, licking a stripe up Sherlock's cock. He circled the head before sucking Sherlock into his mouth and bobbing slowly. 

"God," Sherlock moaned again, sliding his hands into John's hair. He was almost overwhelmed with the unexpected feelings. His hips rocked gently with John's movement as his whole body began to warm and almost melt. John looked up again as he moved on Sherlock, back and forth, holding his hips.

"John," Sherlock said, loudly this time. "It's. . . I can't . . ." He pulled on John's arm, trying to bring him up off his knees. "I want. . ."

John pulled off and stood up, kissing Sherlock's mouth again. "Me too," he said, agreeing with the words hanging in the air between them. "I want you." 

Sherlock scooped his arms under John's, gripping his shoulders tightly. He hungrily kissed his mouth, turning them before they both fell onto the bed. He scrambled to pull off John's pajamas so they were both nude, and then he began to roll his hips as he kissed John's mouth. He reached down and began to stroke John's cock. Both their bodies were hot and almost damp against the cool air of the dark bedroom.

John moaned loudly, bucking up into Sherlock's hand. "Sherlock . . . please . . ."

"Please," Sherlock repeated, dropping down to nuzzle at one of John's nipples as he continued to move fast and steady on John's cock. Then suddenly he shifted, moving to John's side and dropping down on the bed. "Get a condom," he said, looking towards the drawer of his bedside cabinet. "And the lube," he urged. "Hurry." His hand went to his own cock and he stroked it as he waited for John.

John's eyes moved down Sherlock's body, taking in every inch before watching Sherlock stroke his own cock for a moment. He licked his lips before moving towards the drawer. Sherlock pulled John's arm to bring him back as fast as possible. "Hurry," he said again, shifting himself to lie properly on the bed.

John came back over Sherlock, posing his legs to get between them, pouring lube on Sherlock and his fingers. He rubbed gently, pushing his finger inside slowly. Sherlock exhaled long and slow as his head tilted back and then looked down. His lips turned up slightly and then he closed his eyes and mumbled, "It's been a long time . . ." 

"I don't want to hurt you," John said as he pumped his finger. He leaned down and kissed over Sherlock's belly.

"Feels good," Sherlock mumbled, his hand starting to move slowly on his own cock again.

John moved to mouth at Sherlock's cock again as he moved up to two fingers, spreading them apart gently.

Sherlock's body arched slightly off the bed. "Keep doing that . . . for just a minute and . . ." he tried to say as his hand moved a little more quickly on himself. It all felt so good, so overwhelming -- he wanted to feel it all before John introduced a new feeling. John bit and sucked at his skin, curving his fingers to tease at Sherlock's prostate.

"God, John," Sherlock moaned. "Please . . . now. . ."

John pulled his fingers out and opened the condom, sliding it on quickly and moving over Sherlock. He paused for the first time since they started this, gazing down at Sherlock. He touched Sherlock's cheek and kissed his mouth softly as he lined up and started to push in.

Sherlock pressed up on his heels, immediately rocking his hips to encourage John's movement. "Fuck," he muttered and lifted his head to bite at John's bottom lip.

John started moving at Sherlock's insistence, rocking his hips as he moved in and out

Sherlock lifted his free hand to grip the back of John's head, holding him tight as he grunted with each of John's thrusts. "Fuck," he said called out again. "You . . . I'm . . ." he started but didn't finish because he really had no idea what he was trying to say.

John nodded regardless of his rambling, kissing him hard again as they moved together.

Sherlock kept his hand moving fast, trying to stay steady, but he could feel the tension already coiling. "Please," he said again and then his body started to jerk and he was coming.

John groaned as he kissed Sherlock hard, sharing breaths and moans as he followed Sherlock over the edge.

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John pulling him down on top of him. Their bodies still moved in unison as they panted to catch their breaths.

John tucked his face into Sherlock's neck, breathing him in. Reality was settling over him, and he breathed deeper, pushing the nerves away.

"I told you," Sherlock said quietly.

"That you could dance?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, that I could help you," he said. "We had a ten minute lesson and you've moved more quickly and easily than I've seen you do after your lessons with that other teacher." A wide smiled spread across his face.

John smiled as well. "It's true," he said. "I appear to be cured." He dropped his head a little. "But I don't know what this means for us," he admitted.

"It means you can quit your stupid lessons and just stay home and work with me now since you're obviously 'better'," Sherlock said.

John lay on his chest again. "I didn't mean about that," he said as he traced circles on Sherlock's chest.

"I know," Sherlock said. He stayed silent for a moment and then said, "When you first arrived, I thought we'd be flatmates. And then we became colleagues. And then friends. Ever since you've been here, we've become . . . more. This is just a different kind of more."

"We'll be okay with this, right?" John asked, looking up again.

"We've been okay with everything else," Sherlock said. "I have at least. . . except for the lying bit, obviously."

John kissed the nape of his neck softly. "But I do need to get a job at some point," he said.

"Right," Sherlock said. "Well, we'll see . . . I might need you around here more . . . now that I know the other things you're good at."

John smiled wide. "We can do everything. I'll get a job and we can still go on cases. I like the cases, and I like what we just did."

Sherlock looked over and smiled at John. "Good," he said. "I like it when you like things."

John smiled. "I like you."  
  
"I like you, too, John," Sherlock said, rolling onto his side and lifting a hand to John's cheek. "I should have known this was the reason for my feelings, but I can't pretend I did . . . but I did know you were different. From the beginning, I knew we were different."

"I'm still a bit blindsided by it, to be honest," John admitted.

"That's only because you're not as observant as I am," Sherlock said and rolled back flat on the bed. "Do you want to sleep in here?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I would," John answered. He shifted his side to look at Sherlock. He smiled and touched his arm.

Sherlock curled around John, snuggling against his shoulder. "We'll be okay, John, more than okay," Sherlock said with a confidence that surprised him a little but which he didn't doubt.

John closed his eyes. Sherlock had made his life better and now he'd made his leg better. He lay quietly, his whole body felt good for the first time in ages. He squeezed Sherlock close. Yes, he thought. Together, they'd be more than okay.


End file.
